Feversong
Page 21
In nothing.
Forever.
I return his smug smile, thinking about it.
His eyes narrow to dark burning slits. “I’ll kill her rather than let you have her. Take my body or come up with another deal you’re willing to make. I’ll hunt you across the motherfucking galaxies. I’ll shred you limb from limb, dice and exorcise you. I won’t let her live in hell. You have three days. Get out of Mac’s body. Or die.”
Long before three days have passed, I will be all I was meant to be and gone. And he won’t hunt me long. Once I feed the black holes, he’ll either die or be trapped in nothing forever. I consider attacking his druid wall by a different method but I am as uncertain of the current strength of my body as I am of whether I could seize his.
I whirl and dash away from him.
I race into the woods behind the abbey where I sequestered my car, as rapidly as my weakening body is capable of moving.
He lets me.
As I knew he would. He won’t harm MacKayla’s body.
Not so long as he believes his precious Rainbow Girl is within reach.
Everyone has something they value more than anything else. That’s what we see when we look at you, scribbled on your flat, one-dimensional faces.
That thing that means everything to you—and without it you are so easily broken.
Fucking keys to your kingdom.
JADA
After seeing the sidhe-seers safely to Chester’s, Jada left them settling into the upper-level rooms and hurried back to Barrons Books & Baubles to address something she should have dealt with earlier. Every minute now, each hour, was vital. They’d wasted the better part of a day sifting women, one by one, to Ryodan’s club, sending others ahead by what few cars were at the abbey, and tending to the needs of the injured. Before she’d left the club, she’d lost four more sidhe-seers to wounds too severe to heal. Crushed skulls and lacerated organs were beyond their limited medical abilities, and although Cruce possessed at least some power to heal, he’d claimed to be too taxed by his time in the cocoon to use the ability at the moment. Whether or not that was true was anyone’s guess. The ancient prince would resent employing any of his precious power for a mere human unless there was something significant in it for him.
They needed all hands on deck, and Ryodan, with his ruthlessness, Machiavellian mind, and knowledge of arcane magic, was crucial. Had he been uninjured today, she suspected he, too, might have healed some of the women. She had no such ability, and would sacrifice a great deal to learn it.
She stood near the mattress, staring down, watching the virtually nonexistent rise and fall of his chest through narrowed eyes, hands fisted, accepting that she had a profound aversion to seeing him in pain. Irritated by the matter that had brought her here for the second time in a day, she snapped, “Are you awake?”
His head moved slightly beneath the fabric.
“You’re being illogical, you know. How long will it take you to heal this way? Days? Weeks? I watched you die. You came back as good as new. If you can die and come back whole, why don’t you? Are there limits to how many times you can do it, like a cat with nine lives? Or maybe you can only do it during a full moon? What are you anyway? Whatever it is, you’re useless in your current condition,” she said crossly.
He made a strangled sound that might have been laughter and puffed at the fabric. After a moment she knelt on the floor and lifted it from his face, bending near.
“Could. You. Not,” he said on a labored exhale.
She unraveled his comments. “You could die and come back but because of me you won’t?”
He moved his head in a minuscule nod.
“Well, that’s just insulting. I’m fine. I pulled it together. Won’t happen again.” She’d slipped. She’d recovered. Shit happened. Life went on. He’d burned himself to a crisp for her, and now was refusing to leave because he was worried about her. “Sorry you had to burn yourself for me.” She paused a moment then grumbled, “Thanks.” She absorbed his expression; though he had no eyebrows and his face was badly burned, he was somehow still managing to look at her like she’d just sprouted three heads. She clarified coolly, “I thank people when they deserve it. You just don’t usually deserve it. Don’t hang around on my account. It’s not like you could do anything for me in your current state anyway.”
He made a choked sound of laughter, terminated it abruptly then said, “Tattoo. Cell…don’t…use it.”
“Why not?” He’d completed the tramp stamp at her spine and told her if she called IISS he could locate her anywhere. But according to what she’d learned from Barrons today, the tattoo he’d inked into her skin enabled him to locate her even without her calling him. So, why was the phone necessary? “Because you’re injured?”
“Take…too many of us…out of…the game. Too…dangerous…now.”
She studied him in the low light, wondering again exactly what calling the contact labeled I’M IN SERIOUS SHIT on her phone would do and how many of the Nine her using it would impair. Wishing irritably he’d tell her. Obviously it did something more than merely locate her. But confidences weren’t his strong suit any more than they were hers. “I have two missions: Mac, and saving the world from the black holes, and I’d like to do them in that order as I suspect saving Mac could help us save the world. I have no intention of doing anything with your cellphone in the meantime. When you die, how quickly can you return?” It had been a while before she’d seen him again the last time.
“Varies.”
“But sooner than you’ll heal this way.”
“Yes.”
“So, die. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Bloodshot silver eyes locked with hers.
“I’ll stay in the vicinity. You have my word. You know it’s solid.” They might not get along, but she respected him and knew he returned the courtesy.
His eyes were a dozen shimmering, inscrutable shades of cool silver.
She shifted position, impatience making her restless. “What are you waiting for?”
“Not…that…simple.”
“Why?”
“Can’t…move. How…die?”
She got a sinking feeling in her gut. “Do you always come back? This isn’t something that doesn’t work sometimes? It’s a sure thing, right?”
Forever.
I return his smug smile, thinking about it.
His eyes narrow to dark burning slits. “I’ll kill her rather than let you have her. Take my body or come up with another deal you’re willing to make. I’ll hunt you across the motherfucking galaxies. I’ll shred you limb from limb, dice and exorcise you. I won’t let her live in hell. You have three days. Get out of Mac’s body. Or die.”
Long before three days have passed, I will be all I was meant to be and gone. And he won’t hunt me long. Once I feed the black holes, he’ll either die or be trapped in nothing forever. I consider attacking his druid wall by a different method but I am as uncertain of the current strength of my body as I am of whether I could seize his.
I whirl and dash away from him.
I race into the woods behind the abbey where I sequestered my car, as rapidly as my weakening body is capable of moving.
He lets me.
As I knew he would. He won’t harm MacKayla’s body.
Not so long as he believes his precious Rainbow Girl is within reach.
Everyone has something they value more than anything else. That’s what we see when we look at you, scribbled on your flat, one-dimensional faces.
That thing that means everything to you—and without it you are so easily broken.
Fucking keys to your kingdom.
JADA
After seeing the sidhe-seers safely to Chester’s, Jada left them settling into the upper-level rooms and hurried back to Barrons Books & Baubles to address something she should have dealt with earlier. Every minute now, each hour, was vital. They’d wasted the better part of a day sifting women, one by one, to Ryodan’s club, sending others ahead by what few cars were at the abbey, and tending to the needs of the injured. Before she’d left the club, she’d lost four more sidhe-seers to wounds too severe to heal. Crushed skulls and lacerated organs were beyond their limited medical abilities, and although Cruce possessed at least some power to heal, he’d claimed to be too taxed by his time in the cocoon to use the ability at the moment. Whether or not that was true was anyone’s guess. The ancient prince would resent employing any of his precious power for a mere human unless there was something significant in it for him.
They needed all hands on deck, and Ryodan, with his ruthlessness, Machiavellian mind, and knowledge of arcane magic, was crucial. Had he been uninjured today, she suspected he, too, might have healed some of the women. She had no such ability, and would sacrifice a great deal to learn it.
She stood near the mattress, staring down, watching the virtually nonexistent rise and fall of his chest through narrowed eyes, hands fisted, accepting that she had a profound aversion to seeing him in pain. Irritated by the matter that had brought her here for the second time in a day, she snapped, “Are you awake?”
His head moved slightly beneath the fabric.
“You’re being illogical, you know. How long will it take you to heal this way? Days? Weeks? I watched you die. You came back as good as new. If you can die and come back whole, why don’t you? Are there limits to how many times you can do it, like a cat with nine lives? Or maybe you can only do it during a full moon? What are you anyway? Whatever it is, you’re useless in your current condition,” she said crossly.
He made a strangled sound that might have been laughter and puffed at the fabric. After a moment she knelt on the floor and lifted it from his face, bending near.
“Could. You. Not,” he said on a labored exhale.
She unraveled his comments. “You could die and come back but because of me you won’t?”
He moved his head in a minuscule nod.
“Well, that’s just insulting. I’m fine. I pulled it together. Won’t happen again.” She’d slipped. She’d recovered. Shit happened. Life went on. He’d burned himself to a crisp for her, and now was refusing to leave because he was worried about her. “Sorry you had to burn yourself for me.” She paused a moment then grumbled, “Thanks.” She absorbed his expression; though he had no eyebrows and his face was badly burned, he was somehow still managing to look at her like she’d just sprouted three heads. She clarified coolly, “I thank people when they deserve it. You just don’t usually deserve it. Don’t hang around on my account. It’s not like you could do anything for me in your current state anyway.”
He made a choked sound of laughter, terminated it abruptly then said, “Tattoo. Cell…don’t…use it.”
“Why not?” He’d completed the tramp stamp at her spine and told her if she called IISS he could locate her anywhere. But according to what she’d learned from Barrons today, the tattoo he’d inked into her skin enabled him to locate her even without her calling him. So, why was the phone necessary? “Because you’re injured?”
“Take…too many of us…out of…the game. Too…dangerous…now.”
She studied him in the low light, wondering again exactly what calling the contact labeled I’M IN SERIOUS SHIT on her phone would do and how many of the Nine her using it would impair. Wishing irritably he’d tell her. Obviously it did something more than merely locate her. But confidences weren’t his strong suit any more than they were hers. “I have two missions: Mac, and saving the world from the black holes, and I’d like to do them in that order as I suspect saving Mac could help us save the world. I have no intention of doing anything with your cellphone in the meantime. When you die, how quickly can you return?” It had been a while before she’d seen him again the last time.
“Varies.”
“But sooner than you’ll heal this way.”
“Yes.”
“So, die. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Bloodshot silver eyes locked with hers.
“I’ll stay in the vicinity. You have my word. You know it’s solid.” They might not get along, but she respected him and knew he returned the courtesy.
His eyes were a dozen shimmering, inscrutable shades of cool silver.
She shifted position, impatience making her restless. “What are you waiting for?”
“Not…that…simple.”
“Why?”
“Can’t…move. How…die?”
She got a sinking feeling in her gut. “Do you always come back? This isn’t something that doesn’t work sometimes? It’s a sure thing, right?”
